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Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Potato House

The Old Potato House

Russets, Mountains, Katahdins and Kennebecspicked and tossedinto wooden barrelstoo large to carrychildren off schoolpickers for a month to helpbring in the harvesttrucks full of potato barrelsrumbling up to the potato houseto drop off their starchy treasurewhite goldin brown dirtthe barns are emptyand cave infor lack ofneedmetal and motorsdo the job ofhands and woodand I am sad when I can’t findthe potato house

12 comments:

Love "starchy treasure" and "white gold" but the telling words are at the end. So sad and nostalgic. You know with a few more words, or a refrain, this could be a folk tune. Nice Donna. Again, best wishes on the madness poem!

It's great how you bring us through history and then with such a shift in emotion. I could get a sense of the pride in the work and now it just feels so empty. Beautiful poem. Makes me want to find out more about the potato house!

At the beginning you made me think of when we were allowed time off school to help pick fruit crops. Then I felt your sadness at how time can try to erase the evidence of experiences - memories are so important

Never heard of potatoe houses, but it sounds like it use to be a busy place. I always look at old houses/barns and wonder why no one kept them going. So much history. Thanks for sharing a time gone by.

I have enjoyed reading your posts Donna. (I have had trouble leaving comments.) You always find an interesting way to write about your world. Just like this. I have never known of a Potato house but have the whole history in your poem. Keep writing.